Lost Fire
by Melannen Halfelven
Summary: Modern Day. Feanor’s just a quaint bookstore manager who minds his own business.  What’s all this about him having to duel with a Dark Lord named Morgoth, and what’s the End of Days? AU.  Read and review!
1. Chapter 1

Feanor grumbled under his breath as he strode hurriedly down the sidewalk. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trench coat and agilely sidestepped the steaming remains of a recently discarded cheeseburger. It was turning out to be just another day in the city, even if he was half and hour late. He crossed the street at a jog, barely avoiding being hit by a taxi. He ignored the curses that were flung at him by the driver.

He drew his hands out of his pockets as he neared the bookstore. It was a bland cream colored building hidden between two larger offices. The door's green paint was chipping, and Feanor reminded himself that he would need to repaint it. He inserted the key and slipped inside. The alarm near the door began to trill, but he punched in the security code and it was silenced.

Feanor stretched languidly and cracked his neck. He flipped the lights on and looked around the small shop that was his life. Over the last few years, he had blown gently on the embers of the dream until a small fire had blossomed into existence. Will power had been his mortar, and the books that lined the shelves his stone.

He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the chair behind the counter. Gazing out the window, he pulled his hand through his straight black hair that was long enough to brush his shoulders. His mortar was weakened and his stone was crumbling. One day soon he would have to say farewell to this dream he was living. Unbeknownst to him at the time, Feanor had purchased a shop in one of the most valued locations in the entire city. The income he made was just not enough to keep it afloat. Soon he would have to sell it. With a sigh, he turned away and propped the door open. He set up three collapsible tables outside on the sidewalk, displaying his sale items. It was painful to think that soon all of this would be gone, and he would have to move on.

"Fay!" Sara bounced up to him and kissed him on the cheek. Feanor looked at the young woman that had been working with him for the past three years. She wore black t-shirt and jeans. He grabbed a lock of her hair and gave it a friendly yank.

"What's this?" He looked at the purple and blonde strand between his fingers.

She pouted and punched his shoulder. "I like it."

He laughed warmly. "Well, then, I should better get used to it, eh?" She nodded and whirled inside. He arranged the books to his liking before following her.

Sara had plopped down on the chair behind the register and thrown her boots beneath. Her bare feet greeted him from atop the counter. Feanor grinned and swatted at her feet. "Get them off!" His deep voice was lowered in a friendly growl.

She wiggled her toes, but did not move them. Her face suddenly fell. "Do you know what we are going to do?"

Feanor shook his head. He honestly had no idea. "You had better start looking for somewhere else to work." He sent a half-hearted grin in her direction.

"What about you?"

This time he laughed. "I'll be fine. I've survived worse than this."

Her eyes flashed. He noted that she was in a spunky mood today, he had better watch what he says or else he might end up in a pissing contest with a twenty year old. "Like what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know." He had always been truthful with her, probably because she never seemed to give a damn about his problems. However, he had never told her what bothered him most. "My earliest memory is of opening this shop. Everything before that is . . . blank." He watched her brown eyes widen at his confession.

"You mean, you don't remember anything?" He shook his head. "Were you in some kind of accident?"

"I don't know."

"What about your family?"

He spun around, and snarled fiercely, "I don't know!" Sara sensed his sudden change of mood and took her feet from the chair and sunk deeper into her seat. He pulled a hand back through his hair. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. You didn't deserve it."

While frightened by his outburst, Sara realized that whatever it was had passed, and that her old friend was back. "Damn right I didn't."

"Watch your mouth."

"But . . . ." she sighed. "You would have been what? Thirty? When that happened?"

He rested his elbows on the counter. Why did he even bring it up? "Nothing happened. . . . that I know of, Sara."

She rolled her eyes. "How old are you anyway?"

"I don't know." He pushed himself away from the counter. "Go call Kallie, she should be here by now." As if summoned by his mere thought, two people entered the shop. One was Kallie, his blonde employee, and the other was Jim Dennis, her other half who also happened to work for Feanor. They greeted him before dropping their bags behind the desk and wandering to the back.

The day was just as Feanor had expected. A few customers came in around nine, and then a couple more at noon. They were practically busy at two, but then everything faded out. By three, all four of them were lounging by the desk. Kallie was resting her head on Jim's shoulder; he was flipping through a magazine. Sara had curled up in a beanbag to read after she finished all the paperwork. Needless to say, with everything finished, there was nothing for any of them to do. The question of Feanor's past had not been brought up again.

Sara broke the silence, flipping a purple lock away from her eyes as she spoke. "Have any of you guys read 'the Silmarillion?'" All of her companions shook their heads. "I just started it, and it's really good." A few grunts of approval were her only answer.

Feanor finally looked up. "What is it about?" He did not really care, but it was only polite to ask. Anyway, Sara seemed to be very interested. Not waiting for her answer, he looked back down at the inventory list he was going over.

"It's about these god-people, the Anoor, and –."

"Ainur, it's pronounced like an 'i.'" Feanor surprised them all with his comment, meanwhile he did not even look up.

"Well, the Ainur and their creations. As well as dwarves and elves. One elf, Feenor –."

"Feanor."

Sara laughed. "I was talking about the book."

"I know," he looked up, "It's pronounced Feanor."

"How do you know?"

"It's my name isn't it?"

Sara looked unconvinced. "How do you spell your name?" While she had worked with him for years, she had never actually seen her employer write his name.

Feanor rolled his eyes. "F-E-A-N-O-R."

"So you're named after a book character?"

Callie cut in before he could answer. "That's weird – no offense or anything."

Feanor chuckled. "None taken. Anyway, I don't know where my name came from."

Sara slapped her knees impatiently. "I was telling a story!" She whined. The other three laughed and motioned for her to continue.

"Well, Feanor," she put emphasis on the word. "He created three perfect diamonds –."

"Sara," Feanor moaned. "They aren't diamonds."

She crossed her arms and pouted sulkily. "You've read this before!"

He shrugged. "No."

"Then how do you know?"

"I – I'm not really sure."

Jim smiled mischievously. "I wonder if our illusive boss is actually an elf in disguise." The girls laughed and Feanor snorted, not the least bit amused.

Sara flipped through the book, mumbling beneath her breath. "Here!" The others looked over at her, wondering what she had found. "It says he was tall, dark-haired, silver-eyed . . . . what the hell?"

Feanor leaned over to read the passage. "What?"

"Don't you see?" Feanor shook his head in confusion. "It's you!"

**Author's Note:** I'm trying my hand at a really AU fic here. This particular little story has been brewing in my mind for a long time. Please review and tell me what you think! Hope the first chapter was somewhat interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Later that day, once the bookshop doors were closed and John and Callie had gone home, Feanor found himself perched on top of his desk, his eyes half closed. He knew that they could not help it, after all they were only kids, but didn't they see that he didn't believe in Elves or gnomes or fairies or whatever? He leaned his head back and closed his eyes completely in meditation.

Sara entered the room to see Feanor sitting on top of the desk, one of his long legs resting along the edge. If she had not seen the pained look on his face and heard his labored breathing, she would have found it comical. Sara ran up to him, taking a firm hold of both his shoulders and giving him a good shake.

"Feanor!"

He snapped back to reality, violently jerking away from her, yelling something she did not understand. She watched him lose his balance and tumble backwards. She cursed and tried to grab him before he crashed onto the floor, but was too slow. Sara expected to hear a mighty smashing sound when everything fell, but was completely dumbfounded when Feanor landed on his feet. Despite looking rather surprised he was completely unharmed.

His eyes darted around the room, as if he expected to see something that was not there. Then he began to speak. Sara did not understand the words, but they came off of his lips like butterflies taking flight on a gentle wind. His silver eyes were like fire. She wanted to tremble, but the words rendered her completely immobile. They were terrifying, ancient, beautiful. After a few minutes, Feanor shook himself out of his stupor. He noted the expression on Sara's face.

"What's wrong?"

She gathered what was left of her tattered wits and replied. "What was that?"

He looked confused. "What?"

She motioned toward him. "W-whatever that was you just did!"

He cocked his head, a piece of black hair falling in front of his eyes. "What did I do?"

Sara clenched her teeth. "Something about silmarilli, melkor, mandos, balrog, and nar." She sent him a scathing glare. "What the hell is going on?" He slumped back.

"I don't know."

"Who are you, Feanor?"

"Feanor."

"What are you?"

"Sara, I'm just as human as you."

"Liar." She stormed over to him and took a large chunk of hair in her hand, yanking it back violently. "Explain." She gave his pointed ear a vicious flick. After seeing them once, Sara had always harbored the suspicion that Feanor was not completely normal, but she had ignored it. Now, though, it seemed as if all of her fears were coming true.

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

He pushed her hand away. "I can't! I remember nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Sara stepped away and strode out of the bookstore, confused and worried. She pulled her jacket tighter around her thin body. What was he? Had she spent the last three years working under something that wasn't human? Some creature? An elf? Ask her a day ago, and she would have scoffed at the idea.

Sara unlocked the door to her apartment about fifteen minutes later. Jay, her tabby, met her at the door and rubbed against her legs, purring. She bent down and pet him absently before throwing her jacket onto the sofa and trudging over to her computer. There had to be something on this somewhere.

It did not take her long at all to find more Silmarillion websites than she thought possible. What astounded her though, was that she quickly found that her boss, whether he liked it or not, had a rather devoted . . . . following.

Sara found someone who was willing to chat with her about elves, not that it was hard to find someone, but this person at least seemed sane. Sara whispered to herself as she typed.

"Who is Feanor?" She clicked send.

The answer surprised her. "He's an arrogant jerk." She sighed and decided to ask someone else, she had to give her boss the benefit of the doubt.

The next answer surprised her even more than the first. "The hottest elf ever!"

"Okay . . . ." Sara decided to look elsewhere, because obviously Feanor was a touchy subject with . . . . . these people. She soon found an article, or rather a ten page thesis. It gave her a far better idea of who, and what, she was dealing with. If her Feanor was actually _the_ Feanor. She fell asleep with her head resting on her folded arms beside the computer. She learned one thing, however, that night.

Either you hated him, or you loved him. She was not sure quite which she felt yet. At the bookstore she was leaning more toward hate, but now, she was not so sure.


	3. Chapter 3

Feanor did not know what to think. Just a couple of days ago he had been completely secure in his knowledge of who he was. Yet, within a couple of minutes his entire world had collapsed into a pile of smoking rubble. It was not a comforting thought. He glanced up when Sara stepped into the shop, slightly more somber than she had been the day before.

She ran a hand through her hair, and if Feanor had not grown so accustomed to her aggressive personality, he might have thought she was nervous about something. "I don't really know how to say this . . . ."

"Then don't." A lazy smile spread across his face.

She sputtered indignantly. "Just listen for once, will you, Feanor?"

He flicked a black strand of hair from in front of his eyes and regarded her curiously. He asked himself many questions in the span of seconds before she spoke again. Had she found another job? Was she leaving? Would these playful banters come to an end?

She took a deep breath. "You have to destroy Morgoth."

"Who?"

"Your mortal enemy - Melkor!"

He sighed. "What are you talking about, Sara?"

"He's going to kill you if you don't kill him!"

"I don't even know who this is . . . much less why he would want to kill me."

"You stand between him and world dominion!" She nearly screamed into his bewildered face.

"Are you unwell?"

Feanor could see the temper flare in her eyes. "No!" She pushed him aside and hopped up onto the desk. "You have to remember Morgoth! He was the one who took your Silmarils!"

"Sara, are we back on that again? I told you, it's complete foolishness!"

"But it's true!"

"How do you know?"

Sara grabbed the pen that lay next to her, praying she was right, and hurled it at him with all of her strength. He caught it with ease. "No human could have done that."

He ground his teeth. "I am human, Sara. I'm sorry to disappoint." He saw the wheels turning in her mind, trying to find a way to prove her point. Although nothing prepared him for her next words. Even though her intent was obvious, they stung a deep place in him that he had chosen to ignore.

"If it wasn't for you, Finwe might have lived."

He stood up so quickly and so violently, that it caused Sara to jump backwards. "I did nothing."

"What about Miriel? You cannot lay guiltless on her death!"

"I do not care."

"Yes you do!"

"Shut up, Sara!"

"You killed –." He swung so quickly, that she did not have time to move. The back of his hand contacted with her mouth hard enough that she soon felt the warm metallic taste of her own blood. She watched as he yanked up his coat and stormed out of the door, not looking back. Sara whimpered and slid to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. She bit her lip as she tried to hold back her tears, but it did nothing. She buried her head in her arms and wept.

Feanor slammed the door of his apartment closed with a fury that bordered on madness. How could she have pinpointed something that he had not been able to figure out for years? It angered him, and frightened him. The names, Finwe and Miriel, were like figments of a dream. He felt the guilt, anger, and sadness tied to them both, but could not place their faces in any event in his life. He did not know them, but yet he did.

He threw himself onto the sofa, breathing heavily to control the rage that was pouring through his veins – a rage he could not place or understand. It had not been the first time that Sara had prodded him, but he never harmed her. He drew the malicious hand to his chest; he could still feel the sting from when he had lashed out at her. He grabbed the pillow that sat next to him, and flung it across the room.

He jumped slightly when the phone next to him trilled shrilly. Growling to himself, he picked it up. "Hello?"

"Are you done having your temper tantrum?"

"Wha–?"

"Feanor, I've known you for years – answer the question."

He debated slamming the phone back into its receiver, but instead mumbled beneath his breath, "Yes."

"Good." Kallie growled, "Because you are going to get your vile arse down to this shop right now."

"Why?" He asked suspiciously.

Her voice was cold enough to freeze his blood. "Because you owe Sara an apology." For once, he did not argue.


End file.
